The temple swallowed them whole, and from my throne in the Divine Space, I watched four separate trials bloom across my monitors. Four chambers manifested from the darkness, each one tailored to the individual hero standing within. I'd programmed the temple's core algorithms weeks ago, back when this dungeon world was nothing but wireframe concepts and theoretical encounter designs. Now those theories were being tested on actual human souls.
My fingers tightened on the armrest.
"System, confirm safety protocols are active."
SAFETY PARAMETERS: ENGAGED. PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE: MONITORED. PHYSICAL DELETION: IMPOSSIBLE. EMOTIONAL TRAUMA: WITHIN ACCEPTABLE THRESHOLDS.
Within acceptable thresholds. I'd written those thresholds myself, calibrated them based on human psychological research I'd absorbed during my first week as a god. But research and reality were different things. I was about to find out if my calculations held up against actual breaking points.
I focused my attention on Conner's chamber first. The half-Kryptonian stood alone in a circular room made entirely of cascading data streams. Ones and zeros flowed past him like waterfalls, and suspended in the center of the room, encased in separate spheres of corrupted code, were Patamon and Gatomon.
Both were conscious. Both were terrified.
"Conner!" Patamon's voice cracked with fear. "What's happening?"
"The corruption is spreading," Gatomon said, her Champion-level instincts analyzing the situation even through panic. "We're being deleted. Slowly."
Conner lunged forward, but an invisible barrier stopped him inches from Patamon's sphere. He tried again, slamming his Kryptonian strength against the wall. Nothing. Not even a crack.
A voice echoed through the chamber, cold and mechanical. Not mine. The temple's automated trial system, following the script I'd programmed.
"The Crest of Hope is a lie," the voice intoned. "Hope is the refuge of those too weak to accept reality. You are a weapon created by Cadmus. A thing, not a person. You have no free will, only programming. And now you must choose which partner to save. The deletion accelerates in thirty seconds. Choose, or lose both."
I leaned forward, watching Conner's face. This was the crux of it. Hope wasn't about blind optimism or naive belief that everything worked out. Hope was about facing impossible situations and choosing to act anyway, believing that action mattered even when the outcome wasn't guaranteed.
But would Conner see that? Or would he break?
---
The words hit me like physical blows. *Choose which partner to save.*
I looked between Patamon and Gatomon. Patamon, who'd been with me from the beginning. Who'd evolved to Angemon through our bond, who'd taught me that hope wasn't weakness. And Gatomon, the Champion-level partner I'd barely begun to know, who represented potential I hadn't yet explored.
The corruption was spreading faster now. I could see it eating away at the edges of their spheres, pixels dissolving into static.
"Twenty seconds," the voice announced.
Patamon pressed his small body against his sphere's interior. "Conner, save Gatomon. She's stronger. She's more useful. I'm just—"
"Don't you dare," Gatomon snarled. "Patamon is younger he has more potential. Your bond is deeper. I'm expendable."
"Neither of you is expendable!" My voice came out raw. "There has to be another way!"
But I'd tried force. The barrier was absolute. The corruption was accelerating. In seconds, I'd lose one partner. Maybe both. The voice had said choose or lose both, which meant inaction was the worst choice.
Except... wait.
Hope wasn't about choosing the lesser evil. Hope was about rejecting the premise entirely.
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the crest against my chest. When I'd claimed it in the temple, the trial had shown me my deepest fear—that I was nothing but programming, a copy of Superman without free will or purpose. I'd overcome that trial by accepting that my origins didn't define my choices. That even if I was created as a weapon, I could choose to be more.
This trial was the same principle. I was being told my only options were to let one partner die or let both die. But those weren't my only options. Those were just the options the trial wanted me to accept.
"Ten seconds."
"No," I said quietly. Then louder: "No. I reject this. I reject the choice. Hope means believing in possibilities beyond what you're told is possible."
I pressed my palm against the barrier between me and Patamon. Then I reached out my other hand toward Gatomon's sphere across the room. I couldn't touch both physically, but I could reach both with intention.
The Crest of Hope began to glow.
"I don't accept that I have to lose either of you," I said. "I don't accept that hope is about choosing who gets to survive. Hope is about believing that everyone survives. That we find a way forward together, even when the odds say it's impossible."
The light from the crest intensified, golden rays piercing through the darkness. The corruption recoiled from it, the spreading deletion reversing. Both spheres began to crack.
"Five seconds," the voice said, but it sounded uncertain now.
"Hope isn't naive," I continued, pouring every ounce of belief into the words. "Hope is active. It's the choice to fight for a better outcome even when logic says you're doomed. It's the strength to make the impossible choice—to save everyone—and then work backward from there to figure out how."
The spheres shattered. Patamon and Gatomon fell, and I caught them both, one in each arm. The corruption dissolved like smoke, and the crest's light filled the entire chamber.
The mechanical voice spoke again, but this time it carried warmth. "The Crest of Hope acknowledges its bearer. Trial complete."
---
From my throne, I allowed myself a moment of relief. Conner had passed. He'd understood. The crest glowed steadily now, permanently activated, its power synchronized with his soul.
One down. Three to go.
I shifted my attention to Dick's chamber. The boy wonder stood at the entrance of a massive maze, walls stretching impossibly high on all sides. Tentomon was nowhere to be seen. Dick was truly alone.
A pedestal rose from the ground before him, and on it rested a single object: a book titled "Complete Maze Solution."
Dick approached cautiously, detective instincts on high alert. He opened the book. Every page was filled with detailed instructions—turn left at the third junction, right at the seventh, straight through the false wall at the intersection of corridors nine and twelve. Thousands of steps, all precisely mapped.
The mechanical voice spoke. "The Crest of Knowledge is a tool, nothing more. Use the information provided. Solve the maze. Prove your worth."
Dick looked at the book, then at the maze entrance. I could see the conflict on his face. This was exactly what he'd trained for his entire life—gathering information, analyzing patterns, executing with precision. Batman had drilled into him that knowledge was power, that enough preparation could overcome any obstacle.
But something was wrong. I could see it in the way Dick's fingers trembled slightly as he held the book. He'd been in my dungeon long enough to recognize when something felt too easy.
He closed the book and stepped into the maze.
---
The walls shifted the moment I crossed the threshold. I spun around—the entrance was gone, replaced by three identical corridors branching in different directions.
I pulled out the solution book, flipping to the first instruction. "Turn left at the third junction."
Except there was no third junction. There were three junctions right here, right now, at the entrance.
I tried the second instruction. "Right at the seventh corridor." But the corridors weren't numbered. They all looked identical—smooth stone walls covered in Digicode, no distinguishing features.
The book was useless. Or worse than useless, because relying on it meant I wasn't actually thinking.
I folded the book shut and tucked it into my utility belt. Fine. I'd solve this the old-fashioned way. Mark the walls, track patterns, map as I went. I had my training. I had my mind. I had—
The walls shifted again. Every mark I'd made vanished. The corridor I'd just walked through no longer existed.
I tried for three hours. Maybe four. Time felt strange in this place. I attempted every technique Batman had taught me—tracking air currents, listening for acoustic anomalies, searching for structural weaknesses. Nothing worked. The maze was adaptive, reactive, impossible.
I sat down against a wall, exhausted.
The Crest of Knowledge hung heavy around my neck. Not glowing. Not even warm. Just... dead weight.
"I can't do this," I whispered. "Knowledge isn't enough. I can gather all the information in the world, but if the maze changes faster than I can adapt, what's the point?"
The crest remained dark.
Somewhere, Tentomon was counting on me. The team was counting on me. We had less than five days before Devimon's forces found us, and I couldn't even solve a stupid maze.
I thought about Conner, who'd probably already passed his trial. About Kaldur, whose leadership never wavered. About Wally, who at least had confidence in his abilities. What did I have? A bunch of detective tricks that didn't work when the rules kept changing.
Maybe the voice had been right. Maybe knowledge really was just a tool, and without someone to wield it properly—someone like Batman—I was just a kid playing dress-up.
The maze remained unchanged. The crest remained dark. And after another hour of futile attempts, a door finally appeared. Not because I'd solved anything. Just because the trial had mercy on me.
I stepped through it, head down, feeling the weight of failure crushing my chest.
---
Dick emerged from his chamber into a staging area where Conner already waited, Patamon and Gatomon pressed against his sides. The clone's eyes went immediately to Dick's chest, where the Crest of Knowledge hung dim and lifeless.
Conner's own crest glowed steadily, golden light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Neither boy spoke, but the understanding passed between them instantly. One success. One failure.
From my throne, I watched Dick's shoulders slump another inch. I'd expected this possibility—the trials were designed to push them to their absolute limits, and failure was always an option. But seeing it actually happen hurt in ways I hadn't anticipated.
Dick was brilliant. He'd been the first to question Ikaris, the first to analyze the dungeon's underlying structure, the first to recognize patterns in enemy behavior. But brilliance without wisdom was incomplete, and wisdom couldn't be taught through information alone. It had to be earned through failure, through mistakes, through accepting that knowledge had limits.
He'd learn. Eventually. But right now, watching him stand there feeling inadequate beside Conner's success, I questioned whether I'd pushed too hard too fast.
"System, what's the status on Kaldur and Wally?"
KALDUR: TRIAL NINETY-TWO PERCENT COMPLETE. PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: EIGHTY-SEVEN PERCENT. WALLY: TRIAL SIXTY-THREE PERCENT COMPLETE. PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: SIXTY-ONE PERCENT.
So Kaldur would likely pass. Wally was a coin flip. And Dick had already failed.
Two chambers remained active. Two more chances to prove my design was sound. Two more opportunities for me to watch kids I'd grown to care about struggle with trials I'd personally crafted to break them down and rebuild them stronger.
Being a god, I was learning, meant carrying responsibility that never got lighter, only more complex. Every success validated my methods. Every failure questioned my judgment. And the worst part was knowing that regardless of outcome, the trials were necessary.
Devimon was coming. The Ultimate-level threats were awakening. If these four couldn't reach their full potential, they'd die in the battles ahead. Not in my controlled trial chambers with safety protocols and monitored psychological damage, but in actual combat where deletion was permanent and failure meant extinction.
I was gambling with their emotional well-being now to save their lives later. At least, that's what I kept telling myself as I watched Dick sink down beside Conner, head in his hands, convinced he'd let everyone down.
The wait for Kaldur and Wally to emerge felt eternal.